Les PinyAppleEeses.

I have an obsession.

This obsession was created not long ago when i was struck with a painful case of artist block, and while a friend was deciding what i should draw, it suddenly hit me. An Evil Pineapple!

That's ingenious, i thought! Pineapples are, after all, evil! (i was bit by one once. Will explain at a later date...). And so i began to doodle profusely, day in, day out for weeks on end (which, in reality, really only amounted to about an hours worth...), and evil pineapple, along with a few others... were born.

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Now the history of pineapple is a long and complicated one, so you might want to take notes. One day, while strolling along on a beach, a man by the name of Popper (nick named so for his delight in the popping sound a grasshopper makes when you hit it with a bike tire, something he had perfected at the right old age of 3.) stumbled upon a postcard that was half burried in the sand. His general plan was to leave it, as his bad hip was acting up from the arthritis, only hightened by the salty air. And so he left it.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in a field which was seldom even looked at, let alone entered, a small plane, running rather low on fuel, was preparing to land. He circled a few times, checking for buildings, people, cows, anything that would be a general nusissance to run over, and, finding nothing, lowered the landing gear, and glided to the ground below. As he touched the surface, the plane skipped and jolted violently, ripping shreds of bushes to pieces, and spraying a sticky yellow juice and pulp all over the plane. When it finally settled, the pilot looked around anxiously, and slowly got out of the plane.
The strong aroma filled his nostrils immediately, and he paused for a moment, taking in the smell, and his surroundings. though not through the same orifice...
"Not bad..." he thought. He picked up a bright yellow piece of spike and licked it.
Of course, he didn't like it. No one likes pineapple. but he did realise "This would be pretty good with vodka..."
Now since every good pilot carries a bottle of vodka with them at all times, he immediately went back into the plane to grab it and test his theory.
He pulled a small napsack from beneath the front seat, and dug through it, removing a camera, a smooshed granola bar (although why it was smooshed, we wasn't quite sure...), and a picture of his loving wife, who was, at that moment, sitting at home with their 8 children, cause no way in hell was he going to do it.
"Ah, Roberta" he said. "Such an excellent judge of what goes well with vodka." He looked at the picture for a moment, and then slowly realised that the postcard he had picked up for her in brazil was not tucked into the frame, where he had left it.
Panic momentarily gripped him until he realised it was just a postcard and he could get another one in the town he had seen not far from the field.
He shoved his things back in the bag, which he crammed back under the seat, sighed, and began walking, grabbing one of the spiky, yellow plants as he did.

As the sun beat down on him and began to virtually melt his brain, he named his little mixer as best he could.
"I shall call you pineapple," he explained to the object, cause it was evidently not big on conversation and didn't have any interesting topics of it's own to offer for discussion.
"Because you are sharp and piney, and i pressume it's possible that you taste like an apple." (He wasn't sure, as apples wouldn't be discovered for two more weeks) "And it sounds better than calling you spikey-vodka-mixer... although that does have its apeal..."
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Tune in next time to find out what happened at the town...